The remaining Hun, finding that his automatic weapon was likewise empty, and mindful of Leslie's brandished air-pistol, was chary of closing with the lad. Incautiously, young Sefton levelled the pistol and fired, the pellet merely penetrating the German's coat and waistcoat, and inflicting a slight scratch on his chest.

In a trice, the Hun guessed the comparatively feeble nature of the British lad's weapon. He knew that seconds would have to elapse before the air-pistol could be reloaded. Mentally comparing his size with that of the fifteen-year-old youth, he came to the conclusion that it was safe to close.

Leslie, far from declining the unspoken challenge, threw himself at his opponent, and two pairs of desperately earnest antagonists were locked in deadly combat. It was long odds, for, with Crosthwaite Senior helpless with a bullet through his arm, and the admiral imprisoned beneath the overturned car, no help seemed likely to be forthcoming from that direction. To make matters worse, Hans, the leader of the gang, having quieted down after the first acute pain, had seen how things stood, and, recovering his pistol, had cautiously approached, seeking a favourable opportunity to turn the already-wavering scale.

CHAPTER XVII--Safe in Port

Throughout the long-drawn night the survivors of the _Calder's_ crew battled manfully against increasing difficulties in their efforts to save the destroyer from foundering. The faulty bulkhead, sh.o.r.ed and barricaded with tightly-packed hammocks and other canvas gear, required constant watching. The pumps were working continuously, relays of men undertaking the arduous task in the high-spirited manner that pervades the navy, especially when confronted with danger and peril.

Not once during the hours of darkness did Sefton quit the remnants of the bridge. Without the aid of navigating instruments, save the inadequate compa.s.s, the destroyer's course could not be maintained with the customary precision. Variation and deviation--factors carefully guarded against in ordinary circ.u.mstances--were affecting the boat's liquid compa.s.s, but to what extent Sefton knew not. With a vague idea that he would "fetch" the Firth of Forth, the sub held on, the grinding revolutions of the remaining propeller dinning into his ears the knowledge that the old _Calder_ was momentarily, but slowly, approaching the sh.o.r.es of Britain.

A cup of unfragrant tea, sweetened with condensed milk, and a biscuit which was strongly scented with a peculiarly acrid smell, were gratefully accepted by the wellnigh exhausted sub. The man who brought the refreshments to the bridge had not thought it necessary to explain that he had sc.r.a.ped the sodden tea from the floor of the sh.e.l.l-wrecked officers'-pantry, or that he had been compelled to wash the salt water from the biscuits and toast them in the stokehold.

Once more the waves had subsided, and an almost flat calm prevailed.

Overhead a few stars shone dimly through the haze. Not a light was visible; all around, sea and sky blended in a dark, ill-defined murk.

At four bells the helmsman was relieved. He was the seventh consecutive man whom Sefton had seen taking his trick at the wheel, but still the sub stuck gamely at his post. He would have given almost anything to throw himself at full length upon the dewy deck and sleep like a log, even for a couple of hours, but such a privilege was denied him. His wounds, too, although slight, were beginning to feel painfully stiff.

The sea-water, penetrating his ragged uniform, irritated the abrasions almost beyond endurance. He yearned in vain for a hot bath and a change of clothing.

"How goes it now?" enquired a tired voice, hardly recognizable as that of Dr. Stirling. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in the North Sea, old bird," replied Sefton, with a forced laugh. "Do you happen to have a prescription for an eyelid prop, Pills?

My optics seem on the point of becoming bunged up."

"Tell it not in Gath," quoted the surgeon. "I've just made a discovery--worth at the present moment more than untold gold. Egyptian, man, real Egyptian, and the only ones to be found on board."

He proffered his silver case. Sefton seized one of the cigarettes with avidity. For hours he had longed in vain for a smoke. His own supply had vanished. Several hundred, having fallen through a jagged rent in the ward-room floor, were lying, a sodden pulp, in the water that surged in the ship's bilges.

"Thanks awfully!" he exclaimed gratefully.

"Bit of luck," continued Stirling. "Found the case in the wreckage of the beer barrel. I don't think the stuff's affected them. Case seems pretty tight. Thought I'd come on deck and have half a dozen whiffs with you."

Crouching under the lee of the canvas screen that had been rigged up to replace the demolished storm-dodgers, Sefton carefully struck a match.

Almost before the cigarette was alight, a jarring shock made the _Calder_ tremble from her shattered bows to her jagged taffrail.

Immediately afterwards the remaining engine began to race with frightful rapidity.

Dropping the cigarette like a hot cinder, Sefton sprang to his feet, fully convinced that the long-expected catastrophe had occurred, and that the bulkhead had given way. Stirling, his first thoughts for his patients, scurried down the bridge-ladder and ran aft to where the double line of wounded men lay, each covered by a hammock to protect him from the night dews and drifting spray.

A minute pa.s.sed. There was no impetuous inrush of water. The bulkhead was still holding. The engine-room ratings had shut off steam, and the horrible, nerve-racking clank of the racing machinery ceased.

"Propeller fouled some wreckage, sir," reported a petty officer.

"Blades stripped clean off the boss I'll allow."

The man was right in his surmise. The last of the four propellers had struck some partly submerged object, with the result that the destroyer was no longer capable of moving through the water under her own power.

All she could do was to drift helplessly with wind and tide.

With a deafening hiss, a heavy cloud of steam released from the now useless boilers escaped skywards. The overworked engine-room and stokehold staffs were at last at liberty to "stand easy".

Suddenly a beam of dazzling white light flashed through the darkness.

Impinging upon the cloud of steam, its reflected glare illumined the scene on deck as clearly as if it had been broad daylight. Then, with a quick, decisive movement, the giant ray was depressed, until it played fairly upon the battered hull, throwing every object into strong relief, and literally blinding the men with its dazzling glare.

"What ship is that?" shouted a deep voice through a megaphone, the sound travelling distinctly across the intervening water.

A couple of cables' lengths from the stationary _Calder_ was a large destroyer, with her search-light directed upon the object of her enquiry.

Sefton's reply was inaudible. The direction of the wind and the lack of a megaphone prevented his words from being understood. Again the challenge was repeated.

Standing erect in the full glare of the searchlight, and apart from his companions, a petty officer semaph.o.r.ed the desired information.

"Stand by to receive a hawser," commanded the lieutenant-commander of the unknown destroyer. "We'll take you in tow."

The vessel was T.B.D. _Basher_, one of the inner patrol of destroyers operating between St. Abb's Head and Spurn Point. Pelting along at 20 knots in the darkness, her first intimation of the proximity of the crippled _Calder_ was the hiss of steam from her boilers. Prepared to open fire at an instant's notice, she trained her quick-firers abeam and switched on her search-lights, only to discover that she had fortunately fallen in with a "lame duck" from the Jutland battle--a craft whose absence was beginning to give rise to considerable apprehension on the part of the British Admiralty.

"You'll tow better stern-foremost, I fancy," shouted the _Basher's_ skipper, as he noted the extent to which the _Calder_ was down by the head.

"Yes, sir," agreed Sefton. "There will be less pressure upon the bulkhead for'ard. It has been giving us some anxiety."

"Is Crosthwaite on board?" enquired the lieutenant-commander of the rescuing craft.

"Badly wounded," was the sub's reply. "We had it fairly hot for a time.

Can you give us any details of the result of the action, sir?"

"Yes; we gave them a terrific licking," said the skipper of the _Basher_. "The rotten part was that the Huns got away during the night.

Still, they won't come out again in a hurry. They've been very busy ever since sending out fantastic claims to a decisive victory over the British fleet. On paper they certainly beat us hollow, but the funny part about it is that Jellicoe made a demonstration in force off the Bight of Heligoland yesterday, and the beggars funked the invitation.

By the by, the sea's fairly calm. We'll run alongside and tranship your wounded. It will save a lot of bother if you have to abandon ship."

Adroitly manoeuvred in the darkness, for the search-lights were now screened lest a prowling U boat might take advantage of the motionless British destroyers, the _Basher_ was made fast to her disabled consort.

Carefully the wounded men were transferred, Dr. Stirling, at the sub's request, going with them, since the _Basher_ was one of a cla.s.s of destroyers without the services of a medical man.

There was one exception. Crosthwaite resolutely declined to leave his ship.

"She's brought us through thus far," he declared, "and I'll stick to her until we fetch home. Where are we now?"

Sefton was unable to reply until he had enquired of the _Basher's_ navigating officer the position of the ship. The answer was somewhat astonishing; the _Calder_, when picked up, was forty-five miles from the mouth of the Tyne.

"A precious fine piece of navigation," remarked the sub ruefully. "I was trying to make the Firth of Forth, and instead I find myself barging into the Northumberland coast."

"Might have done a jolly sight worse, old man," said Crosthwaite cheerfully. "You're a brick, Sefton!"

The sub flushed like a schoolgirl, and, bolting from the sh.e.l.l-wrecked ward-room, made for the bridge.

"All clear aft?" shouted the _Basher's_ lieutenant-commander.

"Aye, aye, sir," was the reply from a petty officer stationed at the after capstan, round which the towing-hawser had been made fast.